


These Are the Shadows (of things that have been)

by preussisch_blau



Series: Blame It on the River [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Abuse of Parenthetical Statements, Angst, Gen, Geographical Inaccuracies, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Explicit Sex, Story Told in Flashbacks, mostly canon compliant, spoilers for 2.09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:27:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preussisch_blau/pseuds/preussisch_blau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harrison walked on into the night, traced familiar paths from bone-deep memory. And all the while, he was haunted by the ghosts of Christmases past.</p><p>(Or, a brief look into the life of Earth-2's Harrison Wells, as framed by Christmas.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Was Bred in this Place

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's mostly canon compliant for _now_. I took some liberties with Harry's background; he's always struck me as a bit rough around the edges, childish in some ways. I fully anticipate being jossed hardcore. Oh well, the idea wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> Also, I could not quite figure out the geography in the show, so I went with something closer to the comic canon as far as city placement. (Like, I read the wiki and everything, but the info on the wiki doesn't seem consistent with how time seems to pass in the show and- Yeah. Anyways, comic geography worked better, so I went with that.)

It was a secret that Harrison Wells was born working class. It wasn't as though he had taken great pains to hide the truth of his background. But for all his showmanship, his charisma and charm that had had the people of his Central City practically eating out of the palm of his hand, he was an intensely private person. There was no biography, generously left to be published unedited by its subject. He kept his work as separate from his home life as possible. When interviews tried to turn to the man behind the work, he had demurred; his work was what was truly important, why waste time on him? He had a reputation for being a walking contradiction, simultaneously the humble researcher who felt his experiments were more important than he'd ever be and the arrogant scientist who pushed the bounds of possibility until they gave way at his demands.

Harrison's path that night had taken him to Garrick's Wharf. He walked down streets all at once painfully strange and achingly familiar. Try as he might, he wasn't able to delude himself into believing the ache and pain was solely the fault of the still healing bullet wound in his chest. How he cursed Barry, sometimes, because whilst he understood the need to keep secrets in the name of protecting those you cared about, - _oh,_ how he understood- that secrecy had gotten him shot.

He tugged his scarf up over his nose. Not just to keep out the frigid night air, though that was a compelling enough reason when each icy inhalation made his chest twinge. No, the other reason was because he really had no interest in being shot again, far from S.T.A.R. Labs, far from rescue. After all, in this world, a sociopath had worn his face, worn his name, used them both to hurt, murder, _destroy._ And he'd already suffered the consequences of that man's actions once. He wasn't keen to repeat the experience. (Though, if he were to be honest with himself, the wiser course of action _might_ have been to actually freeze when he'd been ordered not to move.)

He paused across the street from a small house that had seen better days decades ago. The paint was dull, cracked and peeling from years of sun, wind, rain. The poverty of its owner was apparent, not in the neatly trimmed yard, but in the cinderblocks that shored up one side of the front steps, the shutters shown missing by darker paint that had once been hidden from the elements. Through the window, he saw the faintest outline of a tree, no doubt sparsely decorated.

###### 

He'd grown up in Keystone City, near the Iron Foundry. His father had worked there; long, arduous hours that took him from home at the break of day and saw him return as the last rays of sunlight faded from the skies. His mother waited tables at a diner, left for work as soon as his father was home when he was small, and later whenever she could pick up a shift when he was old enough to stay home by himself.

And all of that, all of it had been for his benefit.

A family like his, how else could they have afforded for their son to go to college? It had been apparent from a very young age that he was brilliant, a genius. He pored over every book on science he could get his hands on, no matter whether it was new or dusty and outdated. He'd been quietly removed from kindergarten after correcting their teacher multiple times, on subjects from the solar system (Pluto was not _always_ the most distant planet from the sun, in 1979 its orbit would take it within the orbital path of Neptune), to biology (there were more than _five_ senses, and also the tongue most certainly did _not_ only have taste buds for certain flavours in specific spots), to reading (she _paraphrased_ , she wasn't actually reading the book).

They waited for the school district to decide just which grade he'd be moved to, finish going over the tests they had given of his intellect and skills to ensure the best placement. Too high a grade, they'd been told, and Harrison would fail not because he wasn't smart enough, but because he'd lack the foundational motor skills to keep up. But too low, and he'd no doubt disrupt the class eventually, whether it be by correcting the teacher or acting out from boredom. And whilst they waited, they did their best to capture his attention at home.

Trips to the library were a daily event. He'd get a small stack of books, and by the next day he'd be done with most of them, if not all. It got to the point where the librarian recognised them, didn't try to argue that the books he was getting were more aimed towards middle schoolers. Instead, she joked that at the rate he was going, he'd run through all their fifth grade level books by New Year's.

And then there was the day their radio broke. They'd sighed, but accepted the fact that they could not afford the repairs at that moment, much less a new one. Neither of his parents had anticipated that when his mom went to take an afternoon nap, Harrison would peek up from his book to stare intently at the radio. By the time she woke up, he'd had it apart, careful around the capacitors. He'd read about those. Explained happily to his horrified mother that it was okay, he knew the capacitors could shock him, so he hadn't touched _those._ And, anyways, he didn't need to, because it was the vacuum tube that was broke.

His dad's tools had been locked up, much to Harrison's annoyance, and the disassembled radio had been shut away with them.

But for Christmas that year, he'd gotten a vacuum tube and a Digi-Comp, and even his parents couldn't have said which thrilled him more. 

That night, he fell asleep listening to the soft, crackle-filled music humming from the speakers of their radio, and dreamed of different ways to configure the plastic pieces of his new toy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, the show is a bit inconsistent about whether it's a biography or an autobiography. I went with what the cover actually says.


	2. A Solitary Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will, barring interruptions, likely update this once a day for the next week. (Also, wow, thank you everyone who left kudos! I have been super nervous about posting this, so I am happy that it is well-received.)

Before anyone noticed him, grew suspicious of the man who stood face obscured staring too long at another man's dwelling, he moved on. The address was the same, but the building wasn't quite. Nellie Clearwater Wells had taken pride in her home. The last time he had seen her house, the paint had been weathered, yes, but it was well-repaired. Not a board missing, a shingle out of place.

Harrison walked on into the night, traced familiar paths from bone-deep memory. It hardly surprised him, then, when he found himself outside the Iron Works. Here, it was fenced off, closed down and the work moved elsewhere. All because a man fell into a vat of molten metal. He clenched his jaw as he turned away from the gate.

###### 

At the age of ten, he was the youngest kid in his class by three years, almost four by the mere accident of a birthdate just shy of the cut-off for entering school. His peers, if you could call them that when he so clearly out-classed them in all mental regards, hated him. His teachers weren't particularly fond of him either, but that was perhaps because of his tendency to spend class time rushing through his work, then leisurely reading something that actually _interested_ him. Again, it was not his fault that basic algebra was child's play compared to the complex theorems of calculus. But somehow people acted like he was to blame for not wanting to be _bored_.

His mother had despaired of him ever making friends. His dad had just ruffled his hair, and when he'd come home one day with a bruise darkening his eye, arms scraped and bloody from being knocked down onto unforgiving concrete? Well, that was the day he learnt how to throw a punch, how to use his size to his advantage. Speed, angles, leverage. Fighting was applied physics, and once he understood _that…_

Well, he hadn't had many further problems with bullies. It grated on him how they thought it fine to pick on the small, "nerdy" kid. But he couldn't help the grim satisfaction of seeing them limp away, avoid him in the halls the next day. 

All told, when his parents had asked him what he wanted to do when he grew up, he had thought briefly of science, of the physics that intrigued him so. Unravelling the mysteries of the universe, unlocking its secret doors. He'd thought briefly, then shrugged. "Probably work at the Foundry."

Because he was smart, he was realistic. They could never have afforded college, much less the graduate schools necessary for him to really go far in the sciences. Working at the Foundry, he could perhaps finagle his way into an apprenticeship of sorts with the engineers, and from there find his way to college, a degree in something related to iron work. Did it appeal to him? Hardly. But it was a realistic goal.

So at first, he hadn't understood when his mom said, "Oh honey, _no,_ " why his dad had shook his head with a laugh.

"You, Harry, are going to college. Even if I have to work my fingers to the bones to afford it," his dad proclaimed.

"Besides," his mom added, "there are scholarships. Loans. We've already considered all this, we just need to know what you _want_ to study."

He stared blankly at them, jaw dropped in surprise as his brain scrambled to catch up. "Physics," he finally said, breathless.

And his parents had smiled, his dad reached over to muss his hair, and everything could not have been more perfect if he'd tried. Because even if they never quite understood on his level, they at least understood _him,_ and in the end he'd found he'd rather have that than all the intellectual equality in the world.

But as all good things, that perfection didn't last. The December after he turned eleven, his world fell apart.

It had been cold that night. Snow blanketed the streets, fell in thick white fluffs from the dark clouds above. He'd sat, wrapped in a blanket, at the kitchen table, head pillowed on a textbook for his advanced physics class. (Harrison had just been complaining not two hours earlier how it wasn't all _that_ advanced.) And he'd been woken up by a knocking on the front door.

He sat up, pulled off his glasses and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as his mom rushed to answer it. Which confused him. Shouldn't she have been at work? Shouldn't it be Dad going to see who would be calling this late at night? He let the blanket slide from his shoulders as he slipped from his chair, slunk around the table quietly to see what was going on.

Police officers? He frowned, came closer, reached over to touch his mom's arm. She jumped, then looked down at him, and he could never have missed the tears that welled in her eyes.

"Mom?"

"Go back to sleep, honey."

"No, what's wrong? Why're they here?" He nodded towards the policemen, both of whom had grown more visibly uncomfortable since he'd come over.

His mom reached across her body to squeeze his hand where it sat, still on her arm, and tried to smile. But it was a fragile thing, broken and put back together all wrong, like a child's clumsy attempts to fix a precious trinket before her parents found out. "There was… an accident at the Foundry. Now go to bed."

"Where's Dad?" His voice sounded distant to his ears. Not his own. It was too calm in comparison to his mother's, too even for the dread that clenched his heart with icy fingers.

"…They've taken him to the hospital. We can… we can see him tomorrow. Harry, honey, please-"

"Is he going to be okay?" 

That made the policemen look away, his mother's face tighten in the way that meant she was trying not to burst into tears, and he just _knew_ with an awful certainty that not only was his dad not okay, but he'd never be okay again. Nothing would be okay again.

"…Harrison," her voice was a low sigh, desperate for him to just _listen_. And for a moment, he hated how he never could just leave well enough alone. "He's not in pain. Now, please, go to bed. Please."

She released his hand to comb his hair back, fingers trying to no avail to neaten the wild strands that liked to stick up in every which way. Harrison nodded once. His head felt foggy, strange, disconnected from everything. A low buzz seemed to fill his ears; if he focused on it he recognised the rush of his blood. He released his mom's arm, turned, and bolted for his bed. Tucked himself under the covers tightly like he hadn't in _years,_ and hoped against hope that this was just an awful nightmare.

It wasn't.

Christmas was a miserable affair that year. His dad hadn't had the chance to buy him a gift, but his will left Harrison his watch. It was old, from the days when watches were carried in a pocket and not on the wrist, the gold-filled casing scratched and brassed with age, the engraving on the back, _"H. Wells 12 January, 1912"_ , worn shallow. It had belonged to his great-grandfather, his namesake, who had received it the day he'd married. And Harrison himself shouldn't have gotten it until he'd married one day, but instead his mother had handed it over, after his actual gift -a copy of Feynman's lectures on physics.

That night, he didn't sleep, afraid of where his dreams might take him. Instead he curled in bed and read by the streetlights, watch clutched so tight in his hand that he swore it left letters imprinted in his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how hard it is to pick chronologically appropriate gifts.


	3. To Bring You Home, Home, Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been bugging me, but I'm posting it regardless before I either edit it into oblivion or stop updating this fic because I can't get past this chapter.

Back home, on Earth... well, 1 from his perspective, 2 from that of the men and women he found himself working with, and it made him wonder how one could possibly number these things when everyone would think their own Earth held primacy.

Back home, on his Earth, the Keystone Iron Foundry still operated to this day. Accidents had been seen as more an inevitable consequence of doing business back then, back there. Where the '70s here had been an era of great societal change, his home by comparison had been gripped by conservatism, capitalistic greed. No one had been there to hold the Foundry accountable for its safety hazards, no newspaper raised scandal at a skyhook giving way, dropping the load that had been too heavy for the purpose it had been rated for onto the workers below.

And he had, in the end, exploited that utter faith his society still had in the rightness of corporations to profit and succeed after his greatest failure. True, his particle accelerator hadn't exploded -they had managed to shut it down and vent the dark matter under the city-, but in a more suspicious world, perhaps more people would have made the same conclusion Garrick had. That the sudden appearance of metahumans was linked to the activation of S.T.A.R.'s particle accelerator.

As he made his way back towards the station, to the last bus of the night back to Central City, Harrison couldn't help but wonder what his dad might have thought of the man he'd become.

###### 

He'd gone to college on the insurance payout from his father's death. All things considered, he'd have preferred to have had his dad there the day he'd gotten his acceptance letter to Rensselaer, the day he'd graduated high school. Anyone who attended the graduation ceremony who didn't know about him would have never been able to tell that Keystone East's valedictorian was actually the youngest member of the class of '78. Harrison had gone from being a short, small boy to a tall teenager, still rail-thin despite playing sports.

His dad had teased him when he was little, said he'd clearly taken after his mom's side of the family, and he'd never seen how his son had shot up, practically overnight, until he towered over his mother and was still nowhere near done with puberty. And that ached, sometimes, when he passed the doorframe where his dad's neat print dated lines tracked up the wood.

Harrison had paused there when they finished loading the car, fingers resting on that last, highest line, dated July 24, 1974. It was over a foot below where his head was now. His mom had joined him, hand coming up to rest on his shoulder.

"You know he'd be very proud of you, Harry."

"Hm?" he looked over at her. "Yes."

His mother's face tightened a bit at that, and she huffed out a laugh. "If you're ever gonna get anywhere, you've gotta learn to be less blunt."

He smiled in reply. "I know… But…" He glanced at the line under his fingertips. "Sometimes I don't quite know _what_ to say."

"Yeah." His mom's head thumped lightly against the side of his arm as she leaned on him. "Happens to all of us. Still, you know you catch more flies with honey."

" _Actually-_ "

"Oh no you don't, mister. What'd I tell you about 'actually's?"

"That you never wanted to hear that word pass my lips again?"

"Bingo."

He chuckled, shifted so he could wrap his arm around his mom's shoulders. "I'd still like to point out that vinega-"

" _Harrison._ You don't have to be right _all_ the time." She looked up at him, amusement warring with stern reprimand in both expression and tone. The joy won out, in the end, because a genuine smile broke across her face. "You're a brilliant boy, but sometimes you've gotta be _nice_ too. People don't like being made to feel stupid."

"I'm fairly certain that if I've learned anything from school, it's that my _existence_ makes people feel stupid," he remarked dryly.

"Hm, true. But you don't have to rub it in."

"I'll keep that in mind."

She slipped out from under his arm and ruffled his hair, earning a frustrated glare. He'd spent half an hour trying to get it to stay neat, and all that work had been undone in less than half a minute.

"C'mon, honey. We've got one heckuva drive ahead of us."

The drive to New York had been long, over a day spent travelling. They'd slept in the car when his mom grew too tired to go any further, and Harrison had felt a pang of guilt for picking a school so far away when he wasn't even old enough to share the driving. He imagined it was even longer for her on the way home, her car empty and only child, only family, a thousand miles away. She'd only been able to stay long enough to help him unload his things into his dorm room, a quick hug and kiss, and then she was gone because she'd only been able to afford three days off work.

And what a culture shock college had been. Most of his classmates, if they weren't rich, were at least comfortably well off. Middle-class, from the suburbs. The fact that his classmates were older hardly registered, used to it as he was. Not even when he'd had to laugh off invitations to parties, smile with every bit of boyish charm he could muster as he deffered because, no no, he just couldn't risk getting in so much trouble for a bit of fun. And sure, he'd been teased a bit -what was college if you didn't have fun? lighten up, old man-, but somehow it hadn't kept him from making friends. Which was a rather strange thing for him. _Friends._ Those had been all but non-existent back in Keystone. But then, here he'd taken his mother's advice to heart, poured as much energy into being outgoing, social Harrison instead of withdrawn, sarcastic Harry. 

(Admittedly, he felt Harrison was a bit of a ridiculous name, and perhaps going by Harry like he had as a kid would have made him seem more approachable… but Harry _sounded_ like a kid's name. And no one would ever take him seriously if they took him for a child. Of that much, he was certain. So Harrison it was, even if his newfound friends griped that it was quite the mouthful.)

Perhaps the oddest part of freshman year had been when friendship and culture shock intercepted at the end of the fall semester. He'd talked it over with his mom, and they'd decided that, no, it would just be too much stress for him to come home over winter break, and could he perhaps take some courses instead.

It's his roommate, Gene, who found out first. Not because Harrison told him, per se, but because he'd not actually been asleep when Harrison had last spoken to his mother. So he knew immediately. It had irritated him, that Gene had eavesdropped on what was supposed to have been a private conversation, but he grit his teeth and bore it. What choice did he have? Gene hailed from Metropolis, down on the coast of Delaware, far from Keystone City in the Midwest. There was nothing Gene could have done to change his plans.

Or so Harrison had thought.

He had forgotten that Gene's girlfriend, Christina, was from Central City, just down the river, in Missouri. To be fair, he hadn't spent much time with the woman; she didn't even attend Rensselaer. She studied physics at the University at Albany. And yet, despite the fact that they were barely acquaintances -at _best_ -, Gene had talked her into giving Harrison a ride home from the airport. Which might have not seemed like much, except he'd bought Harrison a round-trip ticket to Central City and back, which…

Well.

Christmas that year was cold and windy. There was no snow to soften the edges of Allen's Wharf, make the industrial lines of the city gleam with beauty. Even though the chill cut through his jacket, which hung loose off shoulders that had yet to fill out properly, he felt warm. Perhaps the Wharf wasn't pretty, wasn't prestigious, -Tina had almost refused to believe him when he told her his address, couldn't comprehend how a young man as endearingly brilliant as he could come from one of the worst parts of Keystone- but it was home. And there truly was nowhere else he'd have rather been that year.

That night, he fell asleep plotting and planning how to repay his friends for the wonderful gift they had given him. The old radio -static hiss overlaying the carols despite the dial being tuned precisely- played on next to him as he laid stretched out on the living room floor, jacket folded under his head, notebook and pen abandoned next to him, glasses skewed crooked across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Earth-2 isn't quite as societally advanced was inspired by the fashions and graphic design in the show. I could very well be wrong. But it's not like access to the latest technology makes for an advanced society.
> 
> Also, say hello to the first blatant instance of fudged geography. (But according to the comics, Metropolis is actually in southern Delaware. Which is fucking _hilarious_ to me, as it should be to anyone else who has been to that part of the country.)
> 
> And here we see Harry learning how to be that charismatic showman that he is when he's presenting S.T.A.R. Labs' work to the media.
> 
> I liked the nod to Jay Garrick with Garrick's Wharf, so I decided to switch the reference around for Earth-2.


	4. You Are Quite a Woman

If Dad would have been proud of him getting into one of the top technological institutes in the country, proud of his son for finally reaching out and making friends, he would have been deeply disappointed with the shallow cowardice he'd displayed later in life, Harrison thought bitterly. It was a truth he hated to confront, that the reason he hated Garrick was because every morning for almost two years he had looked in the mirror and seen a man who couldn't admit that he'd failed his city.

Instead, he'd hidden behind technological advancements to try to protect people when the Flash could not. Shifted some of the focus of S.T.A.R. Labs from particle physics to metahuman studies. He'd ran, ran, ran from his mistake, shoved metaphorical cotton in his ears and covered his eyes and refused to work with Garrick on any terms but his own. And where had that gotten him?

On a bus back to Central City that was not Central City, back to the ruined shell of a lab that should have been every bit as glorious as his own. A holiday alone, stuck with his own thoughts and memories. Week after week fearing what Zoom might do to his daughter. And now the new fear, that Zoom might not honour their agreement after all.

He tucked his head down and leaned against the window, watched as the last stragglers boarded the train. A couple, college kids if their sweatshirts meant anything, held hands even as they walked down the narrow aisle, the boy trailing behind his girl.

###### 

" _He_ llo."

Harrison hadn't even been aware he'd spoken until Tina nudged him. He glanced over at her, brows raised over the frame of his glasses.

"Now there's a tone I haven't heard aimed at another human being."

He scoffed, looked back down at the book in front of him, and tried desperately to remember where he'd _been_ on the page. Except none of the words seemed familiar, none of the figures made sense. He scrubbed at the back of his neck with frustration until Tina's hand reached across his field of vision and turned back two pages. Then he found his place. He marked it with a light pencil line, before he turned back to Tina, confusion writ plain upon his face.

"You didn't even notice you'd turned the pages?" she asked, amused.

"No?" His tone was querulous, questioning.

It made Tina giggle. God, how he _hated_ giggling. He ran his hand through his hair, nape to forehead, not caring that it made the stubborn waves flick upwards and stay there.

"Don't whine, Harrison, it doesn't suit you. Now, why don't you take a break and go talk to her."

He almost snapped, _her, what her?_ , except he knew there was no way Tina would accept that answer. He might have been excellent at keeping secrets when it suited him, but it was hard to keep a secret when one had been caught in the act. In this case, the act of staring at a rather fetching blonde who had settled in at one of the tables nearby. Instead, he settled -reluctantly, but he settled- for the more honest diversion.

"I have no idea how."

And wasn't that the truth? Though it was less that he didn't know how to talk to women, and more that he didn't know how to _talk_ to women. Oh, sure, he could engage them as colleagues, speak with them as friends, and he was generally considered one of the better T.A.s by the female undergrads by virtue of the fact that he didn't treat them any different than their male cohorts. (By which it must be understood that he found them all to be equally _idiotic,_ and he lived in the faint hope that one day he'd encounter an entire class that would just do their _work_ and _study._ ) 

But the sort of conversation that might lead to a date? Oh no. _Oh_ no. The one thing he had discovered over the past few years was that skipping so far ahead in school had very much stunted his social development. He'd never learnt how to flirt, because when his peers had been developing those skills, developing an interest in sex, he'd been years behind them physically. By the time he'd caught up, lack of experience made him reticent. He'd been convinced he'd never be able to compete with his more experienced classmates, and people his age were so painfully _dull_ that he felt he'd rather pull out his own teeth than consider trying to relate to any one of their number.

"Don't give me that crap. You talk to me just fine, don't you?" Tina propped her cheek on her hand as she looked at him. The look on her face spoke volumes; she wasn't going to give up on this that easily.

Harrison felt a growing sense of alarm. "That's different. We're friends, colleagues. She's…" He waved a hand in the blonde's general direction. "I don't even think she studies physics; I've never seen her in the department. What on Earth would I talk to her about?"

Tina just laughed harder at that, which really did nothing to improve his mood. "I don't know. How about you start with asking her name? Really, Harrison, just be yourself."

"I've been informed by several reliable sources that Harrison Wells is a dick."

"Yes, yes you are," she agreed, still grinning, "But you're a _charming_ dick, and you do have your good qualities."

He rested his head against his hand, fingers sliding up under his glasses. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Tina. Now, if you don't mind, I need to get back to work." His tone was cold in the hope that it might end the conversation.

One day he'd learn that Tina McGee did not take no for an answer when she was determined to see something happen. That was not that day.

She reached over once more and slammed his book shut, then tugged it over to her side of the table and leaned on top of it. "For God's sake," she hissed, "You have two and a half more _years_ before anyone expects your research to be done. You can take _five minutes_ and go _talk to someone._ "

He scowled, glaring through his spread fingers at her. "Because I'll be at my best when I'm feeling the urge to strangle you for being a busybody, right?"

" _Harrison._ "

" _Fine._ If only so you can see why this is a very bad idea."

He took his glasses off and folded them, tucked them away in the front pocket of his pants as he stood up. Took a deep breath. Straightened his shirt out, made sure it was relatively neat and smooth. And yes, he was stalling a bit, but he needed to cool his ire at Tina's meddling.

When he felt as ready as he'd ever be, he made his way through the tables, over to where _she_ sat. Harrison was quite sure she was the loveliest woman he'd ever seen in his life, and he hoped, _prayed,_ that he didn't fuck this up.

He stopped beside her table, opened his mouth to speak… And then she looked up, and his heart skipped a beat, because she had the most _captivating_ blue eyes.

"… _he_ llo."

For the briefest second, he considered the physics behind time travel so he could go back in time to kick himself for saying something so monumentally _stupid-_

But then she smiled at him.

Oh _no._

"Hi," she said. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when she spoke.

"I…" His mind blanked. His mind absolutely blanked, and it was the most _awful_ sensation considering he'd spent the past twenty years never not thinking. "I…" He cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck. "I have apparently managed to forget my own name, so could I ask for yours?"

The award for most effective awful pick-up line was apparently his that year, because this angel laughed. She laughed, mouth hidden behind her hand, and the sound was as happy and sincere as he could have hoped for. Even if it was because he'd made himself look like a fool. "Tess Chambers. But I hope you remember yours soon, because you really don't look like a Tess."

His research that day went forgotten, and so did hers, because somehow he'd managed to keep her attention. Even when he'd snapped at Tina for interrupting them half an hour after she'd sent him over. A moment he'd been sure had absolutely screwed him over with Tess, because women didn't really go after assholes no matter what some of the _truly_ socially inept men he knew might say.

But, no, she hadn't seemed to be fazed by it. Had even ended up going out to eat with him that night. Nothing fancy, just burgers, he _was_ a poor, starving grad student after all. And his entire subsistence was grant funding for his thesis, the meagre pay for agreeing to pound some understanding of physics into the heads of witless undergrads. But even that hadn't bothered Tess.

By the time he escorted her back to her apartment, it was past midnight. They'd spent the past couple hours just walking around campus, picking apart each others theses. Not that he truly understood the latest developments in genetics, but he resolved to change that so he could understand her better. And she wasn't quite on his level with physics, but she knew enough to ask intelligent questions, which was more than could be said of most of his _actual students._

She'd pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek and a slip of paper into his hand. When he returned to his own tiny studio that night, his face still seemed to tingle where her lips had touched. And the paper? Numbers, in gently slanted script, loopy cursive underneath saying 'Call me? -T.'

He wasn't able to go home for Christmas that year, but he didn't spend it alone. Instead, he found himself at Tess' apartment, where they watched cheesy Christmas specials that she remembered from her childhood. And he bit his tongue, neglected to mention that he'd never owned a TV, because some conversations just weren't meant to be had with someone you'd only known for two months.

Late into the night, he fell asleep, head on Tess' lap and some obnoxious cartoon snowman chattering in the background. He dreamed of the future, of being able to give his own children the sort of childhood Tess had known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tess Chambers is this fic's answer to Earth-2 Tess Morgan. Went by a certain tweet that said Jesse's full name was Jesse Chambers Wells when I changed her surname.
> 
> And yes, Harry is a _massive_ dork.
> 
> I feel like I should've tagged for Abuse of Italic Tags on this chapter...


	5. He, Nothing Loth to Go, Accompanied Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be the chapter with the non-explicit sex. Ye hath been warned.

The kids had passed him, sat down in the far back as the bus lurched into motion, engine rumbling louder as it picked up speed. Harrison closed his eyes and tried not to think about how if he failed, his Jesse would never again stay out late with a boy, stars in their eyes. Never finish college, never live her dreams and leave him in the dust.

He tried not to think about how, thanks to him, no one would be safe. How Zoom would run rampant over both worlds until he discovered how to further breach the fabric of reality, jump to yet another timeline, another universe, until no one was left who could oppose him, growing stronger and stronger with every speedster he killed.

He tried not to, and failed miserably.

If it weren't for the necessity of maintaining his disguise, he would have tugged his scarf down to rub his face properly. As it was, he settled for pinching the bridge of his nose and massaging there. He just had to try harder. The solution was there, right in front of him, he was sure of it. He just needed to kick and keep on kicking until the lock broke, until he forced open the door that stood between himself and understanding.

###### 

Harrison slid his hands up his face, which knocked his glasses up onto his forehead, but at that moment he was hardly capable of giving a shit. His hypothesis could be supported! He _knew_ it, deep in his bones. The problem was, science had no room for instinct. There was no way to know something without proof. And at that moment, he was thoroughly convinced that all his notes and calculations on the papers in front of him were somehow changing whenever he looked away, because he was unable to make heads nor tails of them.

He sat back in his chair, elbows falling from the desk to thump against the armrests. He took off his glasses, folded in one stem and tapped the other against his lower lip thoughtfully. All signs pointed to the fact that neutrinos could change flavour in transit, and yet… Well, he had no idea how to prove this. And he knew that he didn't have to prove his hypothesis was _correct,_ that the thesis committee cared more about his methodology and research than whether he got results that supported his hypothesis. But that didn't matter to him.

His advisor had lectured him a bit, on how he shouldn't have expectations of what the results would be. It would only lead him to discard data that didn't support his hypothesis. And, yes, he was _sorely_ tempted to discard the work in front of him, but he wouldn't. At the least, over the past year, he had figured out five methods that _didn't_ show neutrino oscillation.

Slim hands dropped down on his shoulders, slid down to his chest, and he jumped, startled. A gentle kiss was pressed to the top of his head. Harrison tilted his head up, to look into Tess' tired, patient eyes.

"It's _Christmas Eve,_ Harry. You should take a break."

"I can't," he sighed, voice scratching in his throat. "I know I'm doing something wrong here." He tapped the nearest paper with the earpiece of his glasses. "I just need to find _what it is._ "

She hummed, considered his words. He recognised that hum. It meant that whatever she said next was not going to be something he wanted to hear. And yet, because it was _Tess,_ he wanted her to say it anyways. "What if you aren't doing anything wrong?"

"Pardon?"

"You heard me, mister." She drummed her fingers against his sternum. "What if you've done all your math, all your research correctly? Your hypothesis doesn't _have_ to be correct."

"Except it _is._ I just need to figure out how to _detect_ the oscillation," Harrison grumbled testily.

"Uh huh. You don't know that, because you don't have any proof."

"Because I haven't figured out how to detect the oscillation! Otherwise, it's obvious to anyone with _half a brain_ that neutrinos _must_ oscillate! How else could a particle start as one flavour, then further down its path be observed as another?!" He slammed his hand down on the desk, and flinched when the clatter of plastic on wood announced he had knocked one of the lenses from his glasses. " _Damn_ it."

Tess sighed slowly, softly, and straightened up. She released him, to stand beside him and take his glasses from his hand and set them aside, along with the lens.

"I just need to try harder, Tess." He stared at the wall in front of him and breathed.

"Trying harder isn't the answer to everything, Harrison. You can't make something true just because you work at it."

He frowned, brows pressing together and lips pulling to a thin, tight line. That was one of the big differences between them. Everything he had, he'd gotten because he'd never settled. He'd worked, worked hard, spent long nights reading everything he could get his hands on, until the most complex theories had released their secrets to his eager mind. Hours, days even, writing and rewriting his research proposals until he had them perfected, certain that they'd win him the funding he needed. When his counselor back in high school had tried to steer him towards less selective colleges, he'd ignored her, doubled down on his studies, and in the end had proven himself every bit as worthy as an older kid from a better high school.

And Tess, not that he didn't love her dearly, but she'd never quite had to prove herself in the same ways. Yes, she faced the biases against women in science, but she was a geneticist, and the biologies had more women than most of the hard sciences. She'd gone to private schools her whole life, had all the best opportunities, lived in a nice apartment courtesy of parents who refused to see their little girl scraping by.

He'd never say she wasn't brilliant. In fact, he maintained she was smarter than him in many ways. But… This was where they disagreed.

His gaze flicked up at her. "If you can't unlock a door, you kick it down."

"Well, I would call a locksmith first." She sat on his lap, legs hanging off to one side, and draped her arms over his shoulders.

"Mm, would you now?" His hands went to her waist.

"Mmhmm," she smiled, "I would."

"And," he mused, rubbing his thumbs along her sides, the smooth satin of her night-dress catching against his skin, "what would you tell the locksmith if he couldn't open the door?"

"I'd tell him that he's had a very long day and should come to bed because his work will still be there on the 26th." Tess leaned her forehead against his and bumped their noses together.

He laughed once. "I'm guessing I'm the locksmith here?"

" _Mm_ hmm." She closed the short distance between them and kissed him, long and sweet.

For a moment, he didn't respond, before he decided to Hell with it and leaned towards her. He wanted more, and when he demanded entrance, she gave it eagerly. When the air in his lungs ran out, head gone a bit a dizzy, Harrison pulled back just enough to speak.

"You make a compelling argument, Miss Chambers."

He slid his hands down, under her legs, as he pushed his chair back from the desk. When he stood, the soft grunt of effort at moving both of their body weights was drowned out by Tess' squeal of surprise. She clung to him, arms tight around his neck and fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt.

She laughed merrily when he deposited her on the bed, reached for him when he straddled her hips. He caught her wrists, clasped them together in one hand and pressed them down against her chest when he leaned in to kiss her again.

He'd spent most of that Christmas Eve ensnared in his work, but passed the night tangled up in _her._ Fingers laced together, skin against skin, perfect synchronisation in every movement until they were both left breathless and weak. When he withdrew, he settled in beside her and did his best to tug the covers up over them as she snuggled against his chest. They fell asleep like that, pressed against each other amongst the rumpled sheets, cooling sweat sticking them together where they touched.

And Harrison dreamed of how she'd react to the gift he planned to give her in the morning, before they left to spend Christmas Day with her parents. He hoped the work he'd put into this relationship would bring the result he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I despair of my ability to write anything remotely related to smut.
> 
> Also, what is with Harrison and kicking things? I do not even know. He should stop that.
> 
> Finally, I am not a physicist. I really sucked at physics in high school, so I haven't studied it much. Please forgive me my mistakes. Anyways, neutrino oscillation is actually a thing, and it was proven in 1998 in the real world. So if Harrison can prove neutrino oscillation, he'd actually be doing it about a decade and a half before it actually happened. Fun fact.


	6. She Died a Woman and Had, as I Think, Children (one child)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This _would_ have been up yesterday, but my internet went down.

He got off the bus without looking back. Part of him couldn't bear to be around such happiness as the two young lovebirds exuded. How could he celebrate when, even knowing his daughter, his only family, was still alive, he also knew she wasn't safe. It was most of why he'd turned down the offer to go to the West family's Christmas party (and the rest of the reason had been his appointment with Zoom).

Worry and fear clenched tight as a vice around his heart. He breathed deeply, tried his best to dispel those emotions, and failed. He had been failing a lot lately, and he hated that. He'd _promised,_ promised Tess he'd keep their daughter safe, that Jesse would never have to fear any harm as long as he lived… and he'd failed. Perhaps the worst failure of the many that had plagued him since his particle accelerator had nearly blown up in his face.

So, no, he couldn't have celebrated, couldn't have even _pretended_ to celebrate. He had no reason to try to find even the slightest joy in the holiday season. 

###### 

He was going through the motions and he knew it. Admittedly, they were comforting motions, a place of normalcy to retreat to when he could no longer handle how terribly his life -their lives- had changed. So even when everyone would have understood why he didn't, he still strung lights along the roof, hauled out the tree and hoisted Jesse to his shoulder to set the star on top.

Most people thought he was doing it for her, and Harrison didn't bother to correct them. Jesse, his Jesse Quick, named after his father and named for how she'd seemed to go from crawling to running, never pausing to walk, was just as fast in mind as she was in body. She'd understood, without needing it explained, had said in a quiet, sad voice that they didn't _need_ Christmas this year. And that was when he knew he had failed utterly at hiding how his heart had broken.

He picked her up and held her on his hip, headed for the kitchen where he sat her down on the counter. The instinctive response when she reminded him that Mommy didn't like it when they sat on the counter was to remind her that Mom wasn't here. But the words died as he drew breath to speak them, because those were words born of the days he'd spent at home so Tess could do her lab work. Words that were utterly cruel and tasteless now. So instead Harrison shrugged as he got out a small pot and poured milk into it, pointed out that he didn't mind at all.

They'd ended up chatting about small, pointless things as he made them hot chocolate. How there was a new girl in Jesse's class who had hair _just_ like Ariel's, but she couldn't sing half as well. How the custodial staff at S.T.A.R. Labs had feared for their jobs when they'd accidentally broken a light setting the Christmas tree up in the public lobby. (For the record, no, he had not fired anyone over an honest accident. An unmitigated ass he might have been, but he wasn't a _monster._ ) How many pieces of popcorn it might take to make a strand that would completely cover the tree.

But they fell silent as he helped Jesse down off the counter and handed her her mug. They retreated in silence to the living room, where he settled on the couch and held his daughter to his chest as he turned on the TV. The by now familiar lines of Frosty the Snowman broke the quiet, and he had to turn the volume down because it was just too _loud._

The movie was almost over, the hot chocolate long gone, when Jesse spoke, her voice a quiet whisper that he almost missed.

"Daddy? Does it ever stop hurting?"

Harrison's mind froze. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, worked his jaw forward and back. He reached for the remote, switched off the TV, and couldn't think of any other way to stall.

Because all he could think of was how he'd lost his father when he was just a little older than her, and how every time he thought he'd finally learnt how to cope, something happened that opened the old wound anew. Going off to college. His wedding. Founding S.T.A.R. Labs. The birth of his wonderful, amazing little girl. All moments where he would have loved to see his dad or call him up, hear how proud he was of what Harrison had accomplished, watch the joy in his eyes as his son had a family of his own.

But all that had been taken from him three decades ago.

"No," he said at last, "It just gets different. Less sharp. And some days you don't really think about it, but others it'll be the littlest thing that reminds you…"

Harrison combed his fingers through Jesse's hair, brushed it back from her face without looking down. He took a deep breath, and cringed at how it shuddered in his lungs.

It felt like a short eternity before Jesse responded. She curled into him and buried her face against his chest, and the first thing he noticed was the fact that his shirt was suddenly growing damp.

"I miss Mommy."

"So do I, sweetie. So do I."

The Chambers Wells household was a broken one that Christmas, hollowed out and empty feeling without Tess there. When he tucked his daughter into bed each night, he sat there on the edge of her mattress and held her tiny hand until she fell asleep. Some nights he retreated after Jesse had nodded off, collapsed on the couch because his bed was just too lonely. Most nights, though, he fell asleep where he sat, woke up on top of the blankets with Jesse pressed up close to him as though she were afraid he'd disappear if she didn't hold him there.

But no matter where he slept, he never quite allowed himself to sleep deeply enough to dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the mood whiplash.


	7. On His Brow I See That Written Which Is Doom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should've been up a week ago, but life. Merry Christmas, y'all, and thanks for reading~

Harrison slipped into S.T.A.R. Labs late, late enough that whether it was the middle of the night or very early in the morning was a matter of perspective. He made his way to the medical room and flopped down on the bed, familiar now from the time spent healing from being shot. He probably should have taken off his shoes, but it was all he could do to toss his hat aside and unwind the scarf from his neck.

He rubbed his face, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. What had he _done,_ what had he _agreed_ to? Oh, but he knew exactly, exactly what he had agreed to do. Because even if he lost Jesse over this, earned her hatred for working with that… _monster,_ he couldn't bear the idea of her dying. He had promised Tess. She was all he had _left._ Everything that mattered.

But there was something else behind how his heart thudded in his chest. He wasn't keen to place a name to the emotion, but he'd spent so long lying to himself that, just this once, he allowed himself a bit of honesty.

_Guilt._

Which was strange, because he'd thought he hadn't, had actively tried not to, become in any way attached to the people here. After all, the man they had known with his face and name had betrayed them, had used them to further his own desire to go home no matter the cost to anyone else, and yet they had grown to trust _him_ despite that.

And now what was he doing?

Yeah.

Harrison rolled onto his side, a desperate laugh bubbling in his throat. What was he going to _do?_ The obvious answer was what he had agreed to do: betray Barry, help Zoom build up Barry's speed force until the time came to rip it away from him. Betray Barry, who had caught bullets for him, even though it wasn't like you could prosecute a man for killing someone who was supposed to be dead. Who had grown to like him enough, apparently, to want to invite him over for Christmas.

And what about Snow, who had saved his life the second time he'd found himself on the wrong end of a gun? Ramon, who had finally begun to thaw, just a little, as Harrison had shown he was not the man who killed him in a day that never happened, wasn't like that man at all. Miss West, whose good graces he had somehow managed to get into from day one. Even Detective West, who still was wary about him, but Harrison could hardly blame him, especially after _he_ had almost gotten Barry killed.

He didn't want to. But he didn't want Jesse to die either, and what choice did he have in the end? His life wasn't here, with these people. So what other choice could he have logically made?

He dropped his hands to the mattress and stared forward, as though he could see through the walls. _They should have listened to Garrick,_ he thought bitterly, _They should have listened when he said I can't be trusted._

The scant hours of sleep he got were fitful, restless, plagued by nightmares. Zoom's hand around his throat, choking the life from him, Jesse watching helplessly as he died. His daughter's terrified pleas to save her, save her, _save her._ Claws sinking into her chest, ripping out her heart, and bullets sinking into his chest, tearing his own apart, with no one there to stop either of these things from happening.

A man in yellow, a man with too familiar blue eyes -though his were icy cold- and matching lightning crackling at his hands, reflected back at him. The accusations and hatred of the people he'd grown to care about despite himself ringing in his ears. _You really are just like **him.** I hate you. Traitor! Murderer!_

He woke up the next morning in a cold sweat, shuddering from fear and exhaustion.

It was Christmas, and Harrison Wells had never been so alone in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have spent the end of episode 9 going, "Don't do it. Don't you do i- GODDAMNIT HARRY. Okay, totally saw this coming but _goddamnit._ "
> 
> I mean, when you think about it, he didn't exactly have a choice. What was he gonna do? Say no? That would have gotten Jesse killed, and then probably himself as well. And there goes the multiverse...
> 
> Also, I couldn't resist the _really freaking obvious_ parallel to be drawn between Harrison and Eobard. Sorry. ~~Not sorry.~~ (As a note, I went with symbolism over realism in the dream. Also for reasons of parallels. I like parallels.)


End file.
